


Practice

by AmandaRex



Series: Practice/Assistance [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Fluff, Minor AU, POV Leo Fitz, Romance, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Some Humor, trope - inexperienced Fitz, trope - oblivious scientists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaRex/pseuds/AmandaRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prac·tice (noun): the actual application or use of an idea, belief, or method as opposed to theories about such application or use.</p><p>While at the Academy, Fitz reveals to Simmons why he never seems to go on a date. Once they graduate and get to Sci-Ops, Jemma is determined to help him change all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Fitz POV version of my [Simmons POV story, "Assistance"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5588365). Each POV has some unique scenes and lots of different content.
> 
> If anyone is wondering, I'm still working on 'Reach', this doesn't mean I've abandoned it. I needed a break after I hit a tiny wall connecting a few chapters together, so I indulged in a little fluff to clear my head.

Fitz and Simmons laid at opposite ends of her bed in her cadet quarters with their legs crammed next to each other between them. There wasn't a lot of room, but they'd found it was slightly more comfortable to sit this way than if one of them was stuck with the unforgiving hardness of the desk chair. There were end of term exams coming soon, so they'd gotten together in her room to lob questions at each other in preparation.

"Ah, here's a good one," Fitz said, his finger stabbed into the book on his lap. He thought he'd finally found a question tricky enough that she might get something wrong, and he giggled in anticipatory glee. "A photon collides with a stationary electron. If the photon scatters—"

"Fitz! I haven't got anything to write with. You want me to work the equation out in my head?"

"I suppose you don't have to," he said, though he made sure the tone of his voice communicated his disdain that she would refuse to do so. 

"Oh, all right," she huffed, screwing her eyes shut in concentration. "Finish the question, but you can't try to talk while I'm thinking the answer through this time."

He grinned, recalling how he'd nearly caught her in another trick question earlier by attempting to distract her while she considered her answer. "If the photon scatters at angle—"

Fitz was interrupted again, but this time, it was by a knock at the door. Simmons glanced at her watch, clearly surprised anyone would come by her quarters so late in the evening.

"Come in, it's open," she called.

The door opened and Fitz quickly looked down at his book when he saw who it was. He couldn't remember the guy's name, but it was the geologist Simmons had been dating most recently.

"Jemma, we were supposed to meet at the library tonight. Did you forget?"

Simmons clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh, I'm so sorry. We were working so well here doing exam prep and I must have lost track of the time."

"Lost track of the...Jemma, we were supposed to meet at nine. I just got thrown out of the library when it closed at midnight. You lost track of time for three hours? Or you forgot about me entirely?"

Simmons began trying to get up, jostling Fitz and forcing him to stop pretending he was ignoring them. His legs were along the outside of her bed, trapping hers against the wall and making it difficult for her to get by him. He tried to be helpful, pulling his knees up to make room for her, but that just seemed to tangle them up further.

"Yeah, it figures he's here," the geologist said, pointing at Fitz. "You know, don't bother getting up, Jemma. There's not much to discuss, is there, with the two of you holed up in here so cozy with each other?"

Fitz took a quick look at Simmons before he fixed his eyes back on his book, wishing he were anywhere else instead of in the middle of this particular conversation. She'd mentioned before that her newest boyfriend had become jealous of the amount of time they—she and Fitz—spent together, a point nearly all of her dates reached eventually.

"Yes, I agree," Simmons returned, her tone icy. "If you can't be bothered to trust me and won't even consider forgiving me for making the terrible error of focusing on academic concerns when we are in the middle of the most important exams of our lives, then there certainly is nothing left to discuss."

The door slammed moments later, and Fitz waited a moment or two to look up again and check on Simmons. She was blinking slightly faster than normal, though her expression was neutral. She was upset, he concluded, but trying to hide it. He sat forward, putting the book aside, and laid his hand over one of hers where it rested on her knee.

"He was a prat," she whispered. "It's fine."

Fitz nodded, pulling his legs up and untangling the two of them, somehow managing to keep his hand on hers as he did. "He seemed like one. You're well shot of him."

She gave him a weak smile. "You're much more sensible than I am, Fitz. You don't get involved in things like this. They inevitably turn out so messy and unpleasant."

"Yeah, you're right. That's why I don't date," Fitz scoffed, his voice laced with sarcasm. At her confused look, he continued. "Come on, Simmons. You must know why."

She seemed at a loss for words, jerkily pulling her hand from underneath his and sitting back.

"Every single woman here is older than me, most of them by five years or more. The age difference isn't an issue for you. Men seem to like it, if anything, but it doesn't exactly have women banging down my door."

"I'd never thought of it that way," Simmons said, and her voice was indeed breathy with surprise. "I'd just assumed you were focused on the coursework."

"I've had plenty of time to devote to it," he said, trying to make a joke out of it, but he had a sinking, horrible feeling that Simmons could see right through him. This had always been a sticking point for him, forever being out of sync with everyone around him. It was one of the things he valued so highly about his friendship with Simmons, that he finally had a contemporary, someone who understood him in a way no one else ever had before.

"Fitz," she whispered, and his stomach turned at the concern in her voice. It wasn't quite pity, but it was too close to it for his liking.

"I don't...it's not…" he stammered, "It doesn't bother me."

"You know," she began, suddenly sounding more optimistic. "We're finished here in a few weeks and then we're off to Sci-Ops. We've already signed a lease on the flat and we'll be in the real world, outside of school, for the first time in either of our lives. We'll meet so many new people, Fitz. There's a very lucky woman out there somewhere who isn't half a decade older than you, I know it."

Fitz thought about what she was saying, surprised it hadn't occurred to him before. "I suppose you're right," he conceded. When he looked up at her she was smiling brightly, her eyes full of hope for him. It was impossible for him to be upset when she looked at him that way.

"Now, we won't be able to report to Sci-Ops at all if we fail our exams, so let's go back to quizzing each other. You were asking me something about Compton scattering?"

Fitz reached for the book he'd set aside, settling back into his position opposite her on her bed.


	2. The Plan

_(six months later)_

"She was flirting with you, Fitz. Couldn't you tell?" Simmons asked, practically shouting to him as they stomped up the stairs to their third floor walkup. He cringed a little, not wanting to hash out his social deficiencies loudly enough for everyone else in the building to hear.

He took a deep breath before he answered, determined not to give her any reason to accuse him of 'wheezing' as he scaled the stairs after she'd teased him mercilessly the day before. "If I asked out every girl you insisted was flirting with me, I'd never have a free evening again."

"It certainly isn't my fault the new assistant in your lab keeps hinting to you about that new restaurant she's heard is good."

"Anna's making conversation, Simmons. That's a casual comment you can make to anyone you assume has...you know...the need to ingest food from time to time."

"No, that's the kind of casual comment you make to someone you'd like to visit that restaurant _with_. Occasionally, Fitz, two people who may be interested in one another go to a place and ingest food together."

"It sounds so romantic when you put it that way," he answered, grumpily. "I can't ask her out anyway, Simmons. I'm senior to her in the lab. It wouldn't be ethical."

"You're not her supervisor, Fitz, not technically. She reports to Dr. Badhuri and you and I report directly to Dr. Tsang. You're co-workers. There's nothing unethical about it."

They reached their door and Fitz fumbled with his keys, nearly dropping one of the bags of groceries in the process. He struggled with the lock until it gave way, then shoved the door open with his thigh. Twisting around, he held it open with his back to let Simmons through, then moved away and let it slam shut.

"Going to the market would be a lot more convenient if you didn't insist on all these things that take up so much space in the bags. Neither of us has a hand free when we get home," he groused.

" _All those things_ meaning the fresh fruit and vegetables, I suppose?" she asked, archly. "You'd be in constant vitamin deficiency if I didn't do half the shopping and cooking."

"I'd also avoid the dislocated shoulder I'm likely to have after one more trip to the store with you," he retorted.

"You aren't just avoiding that, you're avoiding my question about Anna, aren't you?" She fixed him with a penetrating look over one of the bags as they started to put the groceries away.

"I'm not," he protested, but she didn't take her eyes off him and he couldn't maintain his denial when he knew it was a complete lie. "Yeah, okay. I am, a bit."

"Are you...nervous to talk to her?" She gestured to him, holding a head of cauliflower she was putting away, which somehow underscored the ridiculousness of this conversation. 

"Anna and I talk all the time," he said.

"Yes, about things like materials inventory, Fitz. Have you asked her anything personal? Favorite food, favorite color, favorite music? Have you complimented her? She was wearing a lovely outfit today, wasn't she?" She seemed exasperated at him as he shook his head and shrugged, silently answering her barrage of questions. "Do you even know what color her eyes are?"

"I don't often notice things like that," he told her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "What color are my eyes, then?"

"Mahogany," he answered, automatically. When her eyes reopened with surprise, he replayed his answer in his head. What had made him say something so odd-sounding and specific, instead of just saying 'brown'?

"Do you really think so?"

"First thing that came to my head," he said, still feeling strange about his choice of words.

"I've always thought of them as just a regular muddy brown," she added, the look of pleased surprise still on her face.

"I suppose when you spend as much time together as we have, you notice more of the details," he said, desperately trying to end this part of the conversation, though he couldn't really put his finger on why he found it so mortifying. 

She shook her head a little, her face relaxing back into a more neutral expression. "See there, Fitz? You do notice these things, you just have to move the timetable up a bit. Try to find something unique about Anna tomorrow and compliment her on it."

"Ah...I don't know. I'm rubbish at this sort of thing. I'm likely to pick out something she doesn't like about herself, or say something bizarre like 'mahogany'."

"That wasn't bizarre, Fitz," she said, and he could swear she was blushing a little. "That was rather lovely."

"Well, I can talk to you, can't I? Took me forever to do it back at the Academy though, if you remember. At this rate, I'll be able to tell Anna she's wearing a nice scarf in about five years, probably after she's married and has two children."

"Negative thinking like that won't get you anywhere, Fitz. You just need to try it. Perhaps we can go out somewhere and you can try it on people we'll never see again. The stakes would be lower. Think of it as practice!"

He was already shaking his head. "No, there's no way I could do that. Walk up to women I don't know in some loud, crowded bar, shout over the music to them about what color their bloody eyes are. It's ridiculous, I'd feel like an idiot."

"All right then. You can talk to me, can't you? Practice on me."

"Abso-bloody-lutely not," he said, issuing an unconditional refusal. 

"You have to be willing to take a few risks," she urged. "Men are still largely burdened with the role of initiator, unfortunately. If you want to start meeting people and dating, you'll have to accept that you may feel a little uncomfortable from time to time with the whole process. Everyone finds it awkward, Fitz, I promise."

"I'll try to remember that," he said, trying to end the conversation before she really got going, but he knew things were long past that already.

"Who better to try a few pick-up lines on than me? I can't imagine anything you could say that would offend me, especially as I'll know you're just experimenting. It's risk free!" 

She grinned at him, seeming so delighted with her idea that he knew, instantly, he was doomed to agree to it eventually. She'd keep asking until she wore him down. His life would be simpler if he just acquiesced now and got it over with. 

"All right," he said, facing her over the butcher block island in their kitchen. He leaned toward her, palms flat on the wood, and tried to channel those hyper-aggressive men he'd watched Simmons turn down whenever she dragged him out for an evening. "So, do you come here often?"

"Oh, Fitz," she cried, throwing a balled-up plastic produce bag at him. "If you aren't going to take this seriously…" she trailed off, narrowing her eyes at him. "Please tell me that wasn't you taking this seriously."

"That was ten percent seriously, at most. Sorry," he told her, genuinely feeling some regret. She was obviously just trying to help him and he wasn't showing her a lot of gratitude. "This is more than a little embarrassing, Simmons. I suppose I'm being ridiculous because I'm uncomfortable with the whole idea."

"You can say anything to me, you know that, don't you?" She blinked at him, overflowing with honest sincerity that pulled on something deep in his chest.

"I do," he agreed. "Doesn't make it a lot easier to risk looking like a right prat in front of you, though."

"Put the milk away and meet me in the other room," she said, her eyes shining the way they did whenever she felt particularly inspired by one of her ideas. "The rest of the groceries can wait, this is important."

She left and he let his shoulders sag for a moment, then pulled the milk out of the bottom of one of their grocery bags and shoved it in the refrigerator. He frowned in the direction of the living room when he heard her turn some music on, the frown turning to a scowl when she turned the volume up higher than either of them normally would.

"Simmons, the neighbors are going to start banging on the wall if you don't turn that down," he shouted, but she didn't answer. "Simmons!" He braced himself, knowing she was ignoring him until he followed her, so he crossed the threshold to see what she had in store for him.

He abruptly stopped after he came around the corner and saw her there. She'd shed the jacket she'd worn at work that day and her back was to him, tuning the dial on the radio to make the signal clearer. She was moving lightly to the music, her hips tracing a subtle-yet-hypnotic path through the air as she sang under her breath.

"Simmons?" he asked, still motionless a few feet away from her, and she turned around and beckoned to him.

"Come dance with me, Fitz."

Surely she had to know better than this. She'd seen him refuse to so much as sway from side to side whenever anyone tried to get him to dance.

"I know you don't want to. I know it makes you feel ridiculous, but that's precisely why you need to do it. We need to get you to a point where you aren't concerned about appearing silly in front of me, then you'll feel freer to practice flirting with me."

"If I promise I'm not afraid to look like an idiot in front of you, can I skip the dancing?"

"No, that opportunity has passed. Come on, Fitz. There's no one else here. Just come and take my hands."

He slumped, feeling all the resistance leave his body, and he plodded a few steps over to her and put out his hands. She grabbed them, shaking them from side to side a little to the beat of the music.

"Look, I'm utter rubbish at this. I can't dance any more than you can, and it's all just made up anyway."

He tried for a moment, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, but when Simmons tried to make eye contact with him, he couldn't hold it. 

"Listen, Fitz, I'm not just suggesting this for you. I haven't been on that many dates recently either, and I could probably use some practice flirting as well. We'd be doing each other a favor if we could just avoid being self-conscious about it. Just think of it like all the other projects we've worked on together. We can do this just like we do everything else when we work together, we just have to get out of our own way. Just give it a try, for me?"

"All right," he agreed, forcing himself to look her in the eye as he shuffled awkwardly from side to side. He felt ridiculous, but the more effort he put in, the wider her smile got. It genuinely seemed to make her happy that he was agreeing to this, and that made it difficult to feel too upset about it.

"I really like that tie," she said, the comment coming completely out of the blue and taking him by surprise. "It looks even better loosened like that...kind of sexy that way."

"It looks...what?"

"I thought I'd go first," she explained. "I was flirting with you."

"Ah," he said, exhaling on the word and drawing it out, stalling for time a little while he tried to think. "That's a bit direct, isn't it, saying it's sexy? Am I really supposed to go straight to something like that?"

"Actually, that's good feedback," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "I've gotten the feeling before that I say a little too much too soon. Well done, Fitz." She smiled brightly at him. "All right, your turn."

Fitz stammered a little, looking Simmons up and down as he tried to think of something to say. His eyes fell on her jawline and he noticed something there right away. "I know you've said they annoy you, but I quite like this time of day when your makeup has worn away and your freckles show again. Reminds me of all those late nights we spent in the lab or studying together."

They swayed together in silence for a moment or two and she unclasped their hands, resting hers on his upper arms instead. He wasn't sure what to do with his now disengaged hands, but as he dropped them, they fell lightly on her waist. He half-expected her to pull away, but instead, she leaned into him a little each time they shifted from side to side. 

"That's...really?" she asked, tilting her head a little as their eyes locked. "I mean, that's quite good, but it would hardly work on someone you don't know very well."

"I suppose you're right," he agreed, his head swimming a little with unformed thoughts about Simmons and the jawline he was still staring at, watching as it disappeared back into shadow behind her ear.

"But still, Fitz. Well done. If you truly want to get a girl's attention, making her feel special, like you've noticed something unique about her, that's an excellent approach." Her voice was breathy and her head was still tilted, and a wave of _something_ washed over him, giving him a crazy impulse to kiss her. They'd unconsciously arranged themselves so it would be easy, just a shallow dip of his head toward hers and their lips would meet.

He pulled back a little, his hands loosening around her waist. He needed to be careful not to get confused about what they were doing. Simmons had proposed this idea as a way to help him flirt with a girl at work, not to invite him to develop a hopeless crush on her. 

"Your nose is quite well formed," she blurted out, furrowing her brow as soon as she said it. "That was a bit of a strange thing to say, I suppose. Do you see? We could both benefit from this practice."

He blinked a few times, realizing he'd never considered his nose from an attracting-the-opposite-sex point of view. "Is it really? My nose? Well formed?"

"I've always thought so," she confirmed. "Not too big, not too small. Symmetrical and in scale with the rest of your features. But that's probably the biologist in me noticing that, it would hardly be an especially flattering comment for most people."

"Well, I appreciate you saying it," he told her, resisting the urge to move one of his hands to his nose to feel for himself what she had pointed out. 

"You're welcome," she told him, though she still seemed a little frustrated with herself for saying something she thought was strange.

"Your hair," he blurted out, rolling his eyes at the artlessness of how he'd started. "It's…" he trailed off, lifting a hand to twirl a finger around the slight curl at the end of one lock of hair falling over her shoulder. "It's so soft."

"Is it?"

He nodded, sliding his hand further into her hair and lifting it slightly, being careful not to pull on it. The light streaming through the window filtered through it, making it seem to glow against his fingers. "It looks brown at first, but if you catch it in the sun, it's almost bronze. Like an artist sculpted it."

Simmons gasped, blinking at him in surprise. At her shocked expression, he dropped her hair as though it was on fire, mumbling an apology for whatever it was he'd done that had bothered her so much.

"No, don't apologize. That was wonderf—" she stopped, pursing her lips for a moment before she started again. "I'm starting to think you don't really need my help, Fitz. All you need to do is trust yourself and I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I don't know, Simmons," he began. "Do you think that's all there is to it?"

"You just need a bit of confidence, then I'm sure you'll say something lovely to her. She'd be a fool not to start dating you immediately."

He groaned, feeling a bit thick for not thinking ahead to where all this advice was going. "I'm going to have to go on a date after all that, aren't I?"

Simmons giggled, though she looked a bit guilty as she covered her mouth with her hand. "Of course you are, Fitz. That's sort of the point. Don't you want to?"

He thought about it, trying to imagine navigating his way through an entire evening with a woman he barely knew, having to come up with conversation and figure out where they should go and what they should do.

"Like, a _date_ date?"

Forget about giggling, what Simmons was doing now was full-blown laughing and it made Fitz a little irrationally cranky. It wasn't really at her, he knew, but at himself for saying such an idiotic thing. He clamped his mouth shut, knowing that if he continued talking, he'd childishly snap at her to cover his own annoyed embarrassment at himself.

"Yes, of course, Fitz. And you should. You deserve it."

His mood softened a little. "I suppose that's what I said I wanted, isn't it?" He considered it for a moment, trying to picture surviving an entire evening with someone when he'd been reticent to even start a conversation with a woman earlier that day. "I'm going to be terrible at this."

"You'll be—" She stopped, looking thoughtful. "No, I'm not going to give you thoughtless platitudes, Fitz. I'm going to be honest. A lot of dates don't really go well." She patted him on the shoulder as he reacted to that. "But that's important to find out! You aren't going to be compatible with everyone you're interested in enough to date. Better to find out as quickly as possible so you can both move on." 

"It would be nice to make it through one date before everything goes pear-shaped," he grumped, feeling a bit hopeless about the whole thing.

"Perhaps you should start with something likely to go smoothly, just to build your confidence. A restaurant might be too much pressure, require too much conversation."

He nodded vigorously. She was making an excellent point.

"I know, it's perfect. A movie! It's entertaining, it's a shared activity, but the pressure isn't on you to directly interact."

Fitz smiled a little, imagining it. Darkened theater, no need to talk. It might work. He tried to picture it from the beginning. They'd meet there, grab some snacks, find seats, and then all he'd have to do was sit there. But surely she'd expect something else, wouldn't she? Was he supposed to put his arm around her? Were they supposed to share snacks or get their own? Would she want to talk about the movie afterward? Should they part ways at the theater or go somewhere else? Was he supposed to see her home? If he did, what should he do if she invited him in?

"Fitz, you're panicking, aren't you?"

"How did you—"

"You're squeezing my waist a bit," she explained, looking down.

He immediately let her go, taking a step back. He'd nearly forgotten they were still absent-mindedly dancing with each other.

"I think I need to...think about it a little longer," he said, turning to go back to the kitchen and put the groceries away. He wasn't sure he was ready to face this yet.

Simmons followed him, just as he'd hoped she wouldn't.

"You can do this, Fitz, and I'm going to show you that you can. Look how much more comfortable you are now than before. You didn't even want to consider talking to her, and now you're thinking about the date you'd like to take her on. That's progress, and I won't let you revert back now."

"Simmons," he protested, drawing out the syllables of her name and trying to make his discomfort clear to her. "You can't force me to take someone to a movie."

"You're right, I can't. But I can propose that we extend our practice a bit."

He paused, his hands frozen inside the grocery bag he'd started to unload. "What do you mean?"

" _We'll_ go to a movie. Tonight."

"We go to movies all the time, Simmons. I don't see how—"

"We'll pretend it's a date. You can see what the differences might be this way. I'm sure you're picturing it as much more difficult than it will actually be."

"This is mad," he whispered. 

"Come on, Fitz. I'm sure if you use your imagination you can pretend it's a date, even though it'll just be me."

"No, it's not that," he protested, not happy with the way she was talking about herself as though the time the two of them spent together didn't really matter.

"Well then, what are your reservations?" She leaned on the countertop, examining him as though he was a particularly interesting lab experiment. Which, he supposed, was a fair approximation of what he was, given the scenario she was proposing. "I'll try to react the way I imagine another girl might. It'll be a good simulation."

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" he asked, knowing it was a weak argument but he couldn't really think of anything better.

"I just don't want you to miss out because you're hesitating, Fitz. I think if you were able to make the leap…" she trailed off, rubbing her hand gently over his shoulder. "Let's just say we're going to a movie. If you decide you're comfortable practicing some things you might do on a date, it's okay to do that. If you want to just watch the movie and try it another night, that's fine."

"No, let's do it," he said. Somehow, once Simmons gave him an out, it made him feel more determined and courageous. She was being an amazing friend, well above and beyond what he should expect from her, and it seemed ungracious not to accept the help.

"Really?" she asked, looking delighted.

"I'm likely to make a _complete_ arse of myself, yeah?"

"Better with me than someone else," she offered, beaming at him.

"That's the spirit!" he said, with not a small amount of sarcasm. Her smile fell a little, so he backpedaled right away. "Sorry, guess I'm getting started early on making an arse of myself."

"It's all right, it's probably the nerves talking," she told him. "I'll change out of these work things and we can look at the listings afterward," she said, walking toward her bedroom.

"Let me plan it," he called after her. When she turned around, he explained. "I may have to, with Anna, yeah? And I know we usually split expenses, but everything's on me tonight. Before you argue with me about how outdated that is, it's the least I can do."

She looked reluctant, but she nodded a moment later. 

Fitz went to his computer, set up in a corner of the living room next to Simmons's, and brought up movie times at the theater he knew Simmons liked best. It was a little further away, but the seats were nicer and the sound system seemed to be better. He paused as he read through the movie titles, frowning as he tried to decide which one would be the best choice.

There was one they would clearly have chosen if this was a regular movie night for them, an adaptation of a science fiction novel he knew they'd both read and enjoyed. The science would, of course, be completely inaccurate, but that was part of the fun for them. They'd share exasperated looks whenever there was a particularly unbelievable plot point or egregious misuse of a scientific concept.

On the other hand, there was also a romantic comedy playing, the sort of movie she might jokingly propose seeing just to hear him complain about possibly having to see it. He had a feeling she secretly enjoyed those movies, as he'd caught her up past her bedtime more than once, watching one after she'd thought he was asleep. He wondered if it was the sort of film he should choose if this was a real date, something to set the mood or make his intentions more clear.

He weighed his options, vacillating between the two choices for several minutes, then he made his decision. With an authoritative click, he bought two tickets for the 8:45 showing before he could change his mind. 

He went to knock on Jemma's door, letting her know when they needed to be there, and her rushed-sounding 'thank you' made him wonder how much trouble she was going to. He looked down at himself and the somewhat rumpled clothes he'd worn to work, deciding he should begin putting in an 'actual date' level of work starting now.


	3. The "Date"

Two outfit changes (and forty minutes) later, Fitz paced restlessly in their living room, waiting for Simmons to emerge so they could leave. Usually, if she was about to make them late for something, he wouldn't have hesitated to bang on her door and prod her to come out, but it didn't seem like the right note to strike at the beginning of their practice date. Instead, he waited, occasionally checking his watch and wondering if they'd even be able to find two seats together if they were really late.

"Sorry," she said, her voice coming from the darkness in the hallway leading to their two bedrooms. He turned around, about to say something about possibly catching a cab instead of walking, but he was struck dumb when she came into the light.

The word 'legs' echoed in his head as he took in what she was wearing, then he shook himself out of his stupor. Of course he knew Simmons had legs, she simply favored pants much more than skirts or dresses and he wasn't at all used to seeing her this way. The dress wasn't particularly revealing or daring, but it was made of a deep brown suede that nearly matched the rich color of her eyes and he couldn't recall ever seeing it before.

"Fitz? Should we go?" she asked, looking a little confused, and he realized he was just standing there, gawping at her.

"Yeah, we really should," he agreed.

She walked toward the door and he hesitated for a moment, then rushed to get there first so he could open it for her. There was an awkward moment in the entryway when he slipped past her at the last moment, pulling the door open and gesturing for her to go through first, but the smile on her face when she realized what he was doing erased a little of the discomfort he was feeling.

They headed downstairs, and this time, she paused as they neared the door leading out of the building, waiting for him to step in front of her and open it. They were much better coordinated this time, the transition almost seeming smooth and effortless. He caught her arm as he fell into step next to her, linking them together at the elbow. She looked over at him, surprised again, and he wondered if this was so old-fashioned it would be considered insulting.

"Not good?" he asked, looking pointedly down at their linked arms.

"I think it's lovely," she said, "but it's possible other women you choose to date might not agree with me. You could also rest your hand lightly on my back, just above my waist? Not enough to feel like you're guiding me, just to keep a light connection between the two of us."

He extracted his arm as gently as he could and let his hand fall on the small of her back, finding himself strangely fascinated at the way he could feel her moving under the soft fabric as they walked.

"What do you think?" he asked, wondering how long it would take for her to tire of constantly giving him feedback all night. If it were him, he'd exhaust his tolerance depressingly quickly, but Simmons regularly proved to have the patience of a saint where he was concerned.

"It's quite nice," she confirmed, leaning back briefly into his hand to underscore her opinion. "Not too demanding, but it would remind me that you're noticing me."

They walked in silence for a bit, navigating around the weekend pedestrian traffic on the city sidewalks. He knew he should be saying something, but he couldn't imagine what it should be. He felt it would be better to avoid talking about their work, or about something like the journal articles they'd discussed over breakfast that morning. It should be something else, something more date-like.

He looked at her, trying to see if she seemed bored or uncomfortable with the silence, and he took in the effort she'd put into getting ready for the evening. Her hair shone under the streetlights, obviously freshly-brushed as it curled at the ends around her shoulders. The dress was amazing, fitted closely around the top but with a flowing skirt that brushed against both their legs as they walked. She was wearing a little more jewelry than usual, but curiously, didn't seem to have re-done her makeup. He wondered at that for a moment until he remembered what he'd said earlier about being able to see her freckles. He considered the likelihood of that being the reason, but it seemed more likely she simply hadn't had time after everything else she'd done.

"Simmons, you look absolutely amazing tonight," he said, the words coming more easily than he would have guessed they would.

She looked genuinely surprised, blinking back at him in silence for a moment. "Thank you," she whispered, then she looked away. He thought she might have been upset at what he'd said for some reason and was about to ask her about it, but when he craned his neck a little to look at her, she was still smiling. "You're doing very well, if you're wondering," she added.

"I was," he admitted, blowing out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

She suddenly stopped walking and he came to an inelegant halt, confused until he looked up at the marquee over their heads.

"Here we are," she noted, and he wondered how the somewhat long walk from their apartment to the theater had passed so quickly. She started for the ticket window but he caught her, slipping his arm around her waist to redirect her to the will call window instead. The movement brought them closer together, their faces just inches apart.

"I bought the tickets ahead," he breathed, his voice breaking a little as his eyes caught on hers. Suddenly all he could think of was how the deep brown color of her dress matched her eyes, making him wonder how he looked into them every day without noticing how stunning they were.

"Right," she answered, but neither of them moved for a moment, their breaths mingling between them. Her eyes flicked downward to his lips and it made him remember his crazy impulse to kiss her earlier. Something about the implausibility of the entire idea, that she could possibly be thinking about anything other than helping him gain enough confidence to ask another girl on a date, shook him back to his senses. 

"Wait here, I'll be right back," he said, extracting his arm from around her waist. Something flickered in her eyes for a moment, but she nodded, taking a few steps toward the entrance to the theater to wait for him.

After he got the tickets, he found her examining one of the posters lining the wall. "This should be fun," she told him, pointing at it. "I know you read this book as well. Their mangling of theoretical four dimensional physics should be fun to discuss later, don't you think?"

His heart sank and he knew immediately he'd made a terrible decision. He considered pretending there'd been a problem with his order and buying tickets for the science fiction movie she was talking about instead, but it would be an obvious lie. She could clearly see what he was carrying in his hands, so he was stuck with his choice now.

"We aren't seeing this," he said, gesturing to the poster she was standing closest to. "We're seeing that," he said, pointing to another poster and cringing at her surprised reaction.

"Really?" came her one-word answer, making him cringe again.

"We can probably still get tickets to—"

"No!" she interrupted. "We shouldn't."

"But if you'd rather—"

"I want to see the one you picked," she explained, laughing a little. "I just assumed you wouldn't want to." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "In fact, I'm sure you don't want to, do you? You chose this because you thought it would be a better date movie?"

"Sure," he agreed, though when he thought back to it, he realized he'd picked it to surprise her specifically, and not because he was supposed to be practicing for a date. He really needed to get himself together and remember what they were actually doing.

"Let's go find our seats," she said, glancing at her watch. "We're likely still early enough to get the ones in that row we both like."

He perked up, knowing exactly what she was talking about. There was a single row that had a small number of seats with completely unobstructed views, and though the seats were off-center, he knew Simmons preferred them. He liked it because the speakers weren't obnoxiously loud there for some reason, and that section was usually a little less crowded in general.

They hurried into the theater, getting into one of the long lines at the snack bar. They'd both want some popcorn at least, as both of them had skipped dinner, but he could tell Simmons was anxious about not getting the seats she wanted.

"Tell me what you'd like and you can go on ahead. It would be a shame to lose our seats because the lines are so long."

"No, we should stay together, shouldn't we?" she protested, but she was clearly torn.

"Ordinarily we would, but ordinarily we'd be paying separately. There's no reason for you to wait out here. Go get settled so you'll be comfortable during the movie, it's fine," he said, nudging her arm a little to try to convince her.

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Positive. Popcorn and a bottle of water?"

"Yes, Fitz. Thank you," she said, hesitating for a moment while they looked at each other, then she suddenly moved forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Any date sensible enough to deserve you would do that to thank you for being so considerate," she whispered to him.

He could hardly think well enough to order properly when it was his turn at the front of the line, even though several minutes had passed and he really should have been able to pull himself together.


	4. The Movie

They were about twenty minutes into the movie when he began to wonder what he should do next. Simmons had gotten their preferred seats and there was almost no one around them. He assumed that the relative privacy of their dark little corner, if this were a real date, would mean he should at least be holding her hand by now.

He glanced at the screen, realizing he was hardly paying attention to the movie. The two romantic leads were making awkward conversation, both of them clearly attracted to the other, but there was some reason he was sure he was supposed to remember that they were being kept apart. Simmons gasped as the male lead took his co-star's hand, on the pretense, apparently, of tending to a minor cut.

Fitz clenched his fist and then wiggled his fingers, his hand suddenly feeling foreign to him as he debated what he should do with it. The movement drew Simmons's eye and she looked at him before dropping her elbow on the armrest between them, making sure her palm was facing up toward the ceiling.

He frowned at it for a second, then remembered she was trying to help him. Of course she would make this easy for him to try, as this entire thing had been her idea in the first place and her main goal was to bolster his confidence. He looked between her hand and his, picturing the simple vector that would carry one to the other as though it was a particularly strange extra credit question on an exam. He was stalling, he acknowledged, finding he couldn't imagine how he could make this one, simple movement.

She met him halfway, just as she always seemed to, and let her hand drop a little closer to his. He lifted his and let it fall over her palm, both of them curling their fingers together at the same time.

They stayed that way for most of the movie and once Fitz got over the strangeness of it, he found it was rather nice. He and Simmons had always been tactile with each other once they'd become friends, and this felt like nothing more than an extension of that. It wasn't strange, really. Just a little different, a variation on who they already were.

Of course, he reflected, it probably wouldn't feel exactly this way with anyone else, but at least this showed him that the world wouldn't end if he took a chance now and then. But just as he got used to it and as though he'd conjured the problem himself by thinking about their linked hands too much, she pulled her hand away and leaned toward him, whispering into his ear.

"I'm sorry, my arm is falling asleep," she apologized, but he assumed he should have anticipated that might happen. He made a mental note to ask her about it later, if there was an amount of time he should have waited before letting go to avoid making her uncomfortable.

He pulled his arm back as she sat up, but she gave him a look that was almost sad when she saw how far away the two of them were. She scooted over a little in her seat, just enough so she could lean her temple on his shoulder.

He liked the slight weight of her pressed against him and he leaned into her as well, causing her to nestle her head closer to him, between his chest and his chin. He could sense the rhythm of her breathing now and slowed his to match, leaning against the softness of her hair.

It was perfect for several long moments until he noticed his arm felt odd, having nowhere to rest, and he had to hold his upper body quite rigid to maintain this position. He didn't want her to move, so he let his arm slip behind her, trying to keep it against the back of her seat instead of laying it heavily around her shoulders.

She blinked up at him, seeming a little surprised at the initiative he'd taken, and then she leaned back into his arm. He moved with her, pulling her close enough to snuggle into his chest.

He chanced another look at her, watching as the flickering light in the theater played over her features. He dimly registered the dialogue in the film, realizing the two main characters had cleared up the misunderstanding keeping them apart and they were about to kiss. If this was really a date, this might be when he would kiss her as well, taking his cue from the script playing out in front of them.

He tried to picture it, wondering how he should start. He could bring his left hand to her face and tilt it toward him, then it would be easy to lean down toward her. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, nudging his cheek into her hair as he gathered up his courage.

Just as he was about to move, their seats jostled forward rather violently. He looked back and saw that someone trying to leave the row above them had lost his balance and fallen forward, bracing himself on the backs of their seats.

"Oh! Sorry, dude," the man said, patting Fitz on the shoulder.

"It's all right," Fitz whispered, nodding at the man, barely resisting the urge to groan in frustration.

By the time they settled down again from their interruption, the moment had clearly passed. He watched for an opportunity to recapture it, but it wasn't long before the credits were scrolling up the screen, his chance to test his bravery gone.


	5. The Way Home

They walked out of the theater, their shoulders brushing against each other as they moved through the throng of people crowding around the entrance. Fitz considered putting his hand on the small of her back again, but going back to what they'd done before seemed like a regression, somehow. 

He looked at her side and then reached down to clasp their hands together before he could change his mind, then pulled her gently toward the sidewalk so they could begin their walk home.

"Don't want to get separated?" she asked, her eyes dancing in the moonlight.

"No," he admitted, the honesty feeling crazy, yet freeing at the same time. "Just wanted to hold your hand."

"Fitz," she breathed, halting in the middle of the sidewalk for a minute before she fell into step with him again. "You're saying all the right things. You secretly didn't require my help with this at all, did you?"

"On the contrary, I require it rather a lot." He walked next to her in stunned silence at what he'd heard himself say, wondering what exactly it was he'd just admitted to. 

They couldn't do this, could they? Not a trial run, but a real date? He thought about it for a moment, if he could change their relationship without risking losing her if it all went wrong.

But being realistic, it had to go wrong, didn't it? He had no experience with this and he was likely to muck it up pretty badly. Simmons was patient and kind, but that couldn't be enough to bridge over his shortcomings, could it?

He considered the many questions that seemed to surround them, quickly becoming exasperated at himself for letting his thoughts run away to such ridiculous lengths. Simmons had only agreed to this to help him, and here he was plotting out the rest of their lives together. She'd been so helpful and selfless, and misinterpreting it as interest on her part could only make her uncomfortable, straining the friendship he needed so much to keep in his life.

They walked in silence, their hands linked, but both of them seemed lost in very different internal worlds until they reached the front steps of their apartment building. He had to let go of her hand to fish the keys out of his pocket, following her inside after he unlocked the downstairs door.

The trip up the stairs seemed longer than usual, each flight of steps taking more time than the last. He felt like he'd aged a year by the time they reached their flat, still uncertain where they stood with each other and not knowing what to expect anymore.

"Well, Fitz," she began, turning to him and leaning back against their door. "This is when you should kiss your date goodnight."

"I can't expect you to...I mean...that seems like…" he stammered, unable to complete a sentence.

"It's all right," she said, taking his hand gently and pulling him toward her. "I can't leave you at loose ends now, can I?"

He shook his head, still not quite registering what she was asking him to do. She couldn't possibly want him to kiss her, could she? Even if it was just to help him prepare to take another girl on a date, this was more than he could imagine asking of her.

Her arms were linked softly behind his neck before he realized what she was doing and he moved forward, pressing her back into the door. He remembered his impulse in the theater and followed the script he'd laid out for himself before they'd been interrupted, bringing his hand to her chin and tilting her head toward his. Then he let his hand slide along her skin to cup her cheek in his palm, shutting his eyes as he felt her lean heavily into it.

Somehow, even with his eyes closed, he found his way to her. From the moment their lips touched, he knew he was doomed to forever compare every kiss he'd ever share to this one. Her mouth was supple against his and the kiss evolved from moment to moment as they both fought to get closer to each other.

He shifted both his hands to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as she opened her mouth to him. He had no idea what he was doing, but his body supplied some kind of instinctual impulse to tentatively explore her with his tongue. She moaned the moment he invaded her mouth, accepting him at first, but then challenging him and tracing her tongue into his mouth as well.

They broke apart at long last, both of them breathing heavily. Her eyes were dark and he searched them, wondering which of them would find the courage first to admit this might be more than a glorified homework assignment.

"Fitz," she breathed, her hands sliding down his chest as he fought to compose himself, knowing his head needed to be at least somewhat clear for whatever was coming.

"Simmons," he returned, tucking a lock of her hair gently behind her ear, though it was really just an excuse to brush her cheek with his thumb.

"You'll be just fine on your date," she whispered, looking him directly in the eye and smiling, projecting nothing but utter sincerity to him. "You should talk to her tomorrow, before you lose your nerve."

She turned before he could say anything, producing her keys from her purse and letting them into the flat, then tossing a quick 'good night' over her shoulder before she disappeared into her bedroom.

And Fitz had never felt worse in his entire life.


	6. The Next Day

Fitz was pulling a few supplies out of a closet on the far end of the engineering lab when his ears perked up at the sound of familiar footsteps. He knew immediately that it was Simmons, though he couldn't quite believe he could recognize her by the rhythm of her gait.

"Good morning, Anna," he heard, and there was no mistaking those perfectly-formed, round English vowels for anyone but Simmons. Fitz moved further into the closet...well, there was no other word for it, really. He _hid_ in the closet, knowing it was childish to do so, but was unable to stop himself.

"Good morning, Dr. Simmons," Anna said, her greeting friendly-sounding on the surface, but now that he was concentrating on their voices and nothing else, Anna's tone sounded overly bright to him. "What brings you to Engineering so early on a Saturday morning?" she continued, and Fitz was shocked at how borderline sarcastic Anna's voice seemed under the thin veneer of politeness on the surface.

"Oh, please call me Jemma," Simmons returned, either ignoring or not noticing Anna's annoyance with her.

Well, of course she could sound that way in the face of this odd jealousy Anna seemed to treating her to, he reasoned, as Simmons would take Anna's jealousy of Fitz's friendship with her as a good sign for him. After last night, he was sure Simmons wanted nothing in the world as much as she wanted him to start dating Anna, or anyone else, for that matter, as soon as possible. He considered the lengths she'd gone to in order to help him prepare, up to and including a kiss that had changed just about everything for him and, it seemed, not a single thing for her.

This wasn't Simmons's fault, he knew, and he felt quite stupid hiding from her because he didn't have his head on straight. He promised himself he would get his thoughts sorted out before lunchtime and he'd find her to straighten it out, even if the problem was only in his own mind. Based on the ease with which she'd walked away from their kiss the previous night, he doubted Simmons would even notice he was acting strangely.

"I missed Fitz this morning at the apartment," Simmons explained. "I imagine he had a project here he wanted to come in to work on, though I was surprised there was anything so important here that it was worth giving up sleeping in on a Saturday morning." Simmons laughed a little, though he couldn't hear if Anna had joined her in that or not.

"There's plenty going on here that's important," Anna returned, and Fitz bristled a bit at the competitiveness underlying her tone. She must have heard him tease Simmons before about which of their labs was producing more ground-breaking research and interpreted it as an actual rivalry. He hadn't realized it before, but he should probably set a better example in front of the lab techs. He couldn't imagine Simmons would tolerate anything like this in a lab she had any say over, and he was a little embarrassed she was seeing it in one where he had influence.

"I'm sorry," Simmons apologized. "I'm sure that's true, and I certainly didn't mean to suggest otherwise." Simmons had retreated to an air of formality, though it was also clear to him that she was uncomfortable her attempt at levity had fallen flat. "If you could possibly relay to Dr. Fitz that I wanted to speak to him when he had a moment, I'd be quite appreciative."

Fitz held his breath, waiting for Anna to mention that he was in the same room with them. She had to know he was in the closet and he assumed she wouldn't figure out he was deliberately avoiding Simmons. He considered walking out right now, pretending he hadn't been able to hear them, but he wasn't sure he could pull that off. He had to decide quickly, though, as Anna was sure to point his location out to Simmons any moment now.

"I'll let him know when I see him," Anna said, and Fitz grasped the edge of the metal shelving by his shoulder in surprise. How could she know to cover for him this way?

He didn't have much time to consider the question, as it turned out. He heard two sets of footsteps, one of them retreating from the lab and receding into the distance, and the other headed straight for the closet he was hiding in.

"Dr. Simmons wanted to see you," Anna said, her head poking around the partially-open door to look at him, her expression dancing with amusement. 

"You didn't…" he began, stopping when he realized he didn't know how he wanted to finish that sentence.

"I figured you could hear us, and you'd come out if you wanted to talk to her," Anna said, shrugging, then she came around the corner and joined him in the closet. "We're quite busy in here today, though, aren't we? I thought you might want to cut out any distractions that might slow us down."

"Yes," he answered quickly, taking two steps away from her to grab something at random off the shelf there. "I had hoped we could finish by midday. I don't want to monopolize your weekend."

"That's all right," Anna said, closing the distance he'd put between them. "I don't have any plans for the afternoon...or the evening."

Fitz gulped, recognizing the weighty hints Anna was dropping. Simmons had been right. Anna was actively flirting with him.

"What was that restaurant you were telling me about the other day?" Fitz asked, ignoring the feeling in the back of his mind telling him to do anything but ask Anna leading questions that might actually yield a date for him in the end.

"Oh, Bartucci's? I haven't been, but my roommate's boyfriend took her and she's done nothing but rave about it since. Food's supposed to be great, and the ambience too...really romantic."

Fitz nodded, knowing what his next line should be. Anna had already mentioned she was free that evening, and a simple dinner invitation would actually hint at a lot more after she'd described the restaurant as romantic. If he'd wanted an easy time of asking her out, he wouldn't get a better opening than this.

"I'll keep that in mind," he told her, and he felt awful when he saw her shoulders collapse a little. "Thanks for the recommendation." He slipped past her, mumbling something about returning in a bit, and he left the lab at a pace just short of a brisk jog.

He soon found himself in the staff lounge, blinking at the featureless white walls. Grabbing a paper cup, he got some water from the cooler and gulped it down, bracing one hand against the counter and trying to figure out why he couldn't pull himself together. He was filling his cup a second time when Simmons came in, completing some sort of trifecta of embarrassments for him that morning.

"Fitz!" she said, looking utterly, heartbreakingly normal. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Why did you leave so early this morning?"

He blinked at her, unable to decide on a single appropriate thing to say to her for the first time since he'd gotten over his initial terror to speak to her in their early Academy days. He settled for shrugging, then mumbling something about having an idea as soon as he woke up that morning that would help with his current project.

"I suppose it doesn't hurt that you knew Anna might be here," she said, her friendly smile somehow translating to him as a knife twisting into his heart.

"Yeah," he began, "I think I've just killed any chance I had there."

She winced, but immediately put a cheerful face back on. "I'm sure it's not as bad as all that. These things always seem worse from your own perspective." She patted him once on the shoulder and he twisted to look at her hand, oddly shocked at the feel of her touching him again, even if it was just in a friendly way.

"Suppose you could be right," he agreed, but without any real enthusiasm.

"I'll walk you back to your lab," Simmons said, sliding her hand to his back to gently push him toward the door. "You can give it another try."

He shook his head, feeling a little ill at the thought of it. "No, I think I'll just wrap a few things up and head out. I need to...I don't know...take a walk or something."

"Fitz," she said, her voice hesitant now instead of being full of the sunny optimism she'd focused on him since she found him in the lounge. "Are you quite all right? I mean...are… _we_ quite all right?"

He could feel his heart racing and his ears filled with a terribly distracting burst of white noise, making it hard to keep walking next to her as though he wasn't indescribably panicked at the question she'd asked him.

"We'll always be all right," he said, the words leaving him before he could recall thinking them. "I'll make sure of that, Simmons."

The smile she gave him now seemed more real than before, relieved, but with a fondness that he'd only noticed creeping into her expression recently.

"The whole thing is ridiculous, Marjorie." It was Anna's voice, ringing down the corridor toward Fitz and Simmons. Before he could think about what he was doing, he pulled Simmons into a darkened alcove along the hallway, then immediately regretted what he'd done. Why did he keep hiding from everyone today?

"Sorry," he told Simmons, taking in her widened eyes flashing at him in the shadows. "I didn't want her to think we were eavesdropping."

"You decided to pull us in here, then...so we _could_?" she whispered.

"No, of course not. I just didn't think it through."

"It's not going to work out with Dr. Hottie," Anna said, and Fitz blinked at Simmons, wishing he hadn't trapped them here. "I just gave him the most obvious opening to ask me out and he shut it down. Pretty clear he isn't interested."

There was a long pause, presumably as Anna waited for the person on the other end of the phone call to say something.

"Yeah, you and I both know why, right? I can't compete with years of him pining away for her, even if she doesn't seem to care. Besides, Roger's a much better prospect. You were right, we had an amazing time last night, and his car is _ridiculous_. I don't know why I even tried to get Fitz to ask me out this morning, I probably would have ended up canceling on him if Roger texted me today."

Fitz stepped back until he ran into the wall behind him, letting his head fall back heavily onto the concrete wall. If he'd been waiting for something to come along and completely humiliate him, that had certainly been it.

"Fitz, I'm really sorry," Simmons said, genuinely sounding heartbroken for him, and that was really the final indignity he could take for one day. He wasn't sure how he was going to react, but something ignited inside him and he knew he couldn't stay quiet about this anymore.

"Don't be," he said, his voice sounding harder than he meant it to.

"I know she's misunderstood, Fitz, don't worry. She's just like the boyfriends I had at the Academy, always jealous of you and not understanding that we're just friends."

"She's misunderstood nothing," he said, taking a step away from the wall and toward Simmons. "She's got me dead to rights." He could see the panic in her eyes and he knew he needed to fix it somehow, or he'd lose her forever. "You don't have to worry about me, though. I can never mention it again and everything can stay as it is, all right? I'd never want to lose—"

"What are you saying?" Simmons demanded, closing a bit of the distance between them and bringing her face out of the shadows. He expected her to look worried or upset, but she didn't. It was something else, something he couldn't quite place.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he told her, wishing desperately that he could take the last day back and undo all the mistakes he'd made.

"Yes," she nodded. "Yes, you should."

He took a deep breath and plowed forward. "You're the one I want, Simmons," he said, his heart frantically pounding in his chest as he realized what he was doing. "The reason I'm not rubbish at flirting with you is because you're the one I want to say those things to. I want to hear your breath catch when I tell you something I like about you, something no one else has never noticed. I want to hold your hand when we walk down the street, and not because I think we're going to get lost in the crowd. I want to kiss you up against the door to our flat, and not to practice my technique for someone else. It's your eyes I want to look into when we pull away from each other, no one else's."

When she was silent, he reeled away from her, running his hands through his hair.

"Shite. Shite, Simmons. I'm sorry. I never meant to ruin—"

Simmons closed the distance between them, crashing into him and catching his face in her hands.

"I didn't see it until last night," she admitted. "I feel a little silly. It's clearly been there for a long time, I just didn't let myself think about it."

"Me too," he agreed, his face breaking into a relieved smile. "The exact same thing."

"Too much to lose," they said, both of them speaking together, their lips almost touching as Simmons came up on her toes to get closer to him.

"What do we do if it doesn't work out?" he asked, wondering if he should have avoided asking the question he knew was on both of their minds.

"We'd do what we do with everything else, Fitz. We'd fix it."

He bent his head toward her, capturing her lips and savoring the first kiss they'd give each other without any ridiculous pretenses clouding its meaning. It was better than the night before, better than really any other moment in his life that Fitz could recall. When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, Simmons grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the shadows.

"Let's go home, Fitz."

He'd never moved quite as fast as that, when he followed her as she sprinted away from him toward the elevator.


End file.
